


Many the Miles

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, London, Reunion, post 3x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6130828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne has arrived in London. After a party, she returns home to find something unexpected waiting on her front step.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Many the Miles

**Author's Note:**

> There have been a bunch of “Jack goes to London” stories lately—I guess it’s the big unanswered question right now! This is another, I’m not gonna lie. I was listening to this great Sara Bareilles song, [Many the Miles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwg1TpxkSnA&list=RDjwg1TpxkSnA) (and if you don’t know SB, you should. Go listen. I’ll wait.), and it struck me—this song is so perfectly _both_ Jack and Phryne! I hope you agree!

Phryne stood at the balcony rail, looking out over London. It had been a long journey from Melbourne, and her father had been his usual difficult self the entire way. It hadn’t helped that the plane had broken down twice, both times requiring a week or two of waiting until new parts could be found. Thankfully, neither breakdown had happened in the air—the first was a blown-out fuse that occurred on takeoff, the other was the result of a windstorm that knocked a tree branch into the plane’s propeller. Neither repair was difficult, but the result had been that they reached London almost a month later than she’d expected to.

But the trip had been wonderful in other ways. She’d enjoyed seeing new parts of the world, having new experiences, tasting new flavors. There had been beautiful sights, handsome men, and delightful encounters. She had explored the markets in Singapore and Mumbai, Krakow and Paris, and in each place she’d picked up a small memento intended for one of her friends back home. A carved ivory elephant for Jane, a lovely brass pen for Mac, a patterned scarf in pinks and blues for Dot, and a box of spices for Mr Butler. She hadn’t yet found anything for Cec and Bert, or Hugh. Or Jack.

Phryne paused for a moment, letting his name resonate within her mind before wrenching her thoughts away. Thinking of Jack made her melancholy, and there was a party she needed to attend, so those thoughts would have to wait. She would have to wait to indulge in them.

With a sigh, she turned and made her way back into the house. The party was hopping, young people dancing to jazz music, champagne flowing freely; she noted that some of the guests appeared to have disappeared—she imagined that there was illicit lovemaking going on in various corners of the house. She took a deep breath, knowing it would be another hour or so before she could politely leave. The party was lovely, and she did enjoy these people, but after several weeks in London, she found herself wishing for her cozy parlor back at Wardlow, and her dear friends gathered around. Phryne pushed that thought aside as well and plastered a social smile on her face as she headed into the room.

It was after midnight when the taxicab deposited Phryne at her front steps. She stepped out of the cab, fumbling in her purse for her house key, and it wasn’t until she found it that she looked up to see the man seated on her steps, leaning against the front of her townhouse, his head tipped backward and his battered fedora in his lap.

Phryne closed her eyes hard, squeezing them shut. She’d had several glasses of champagne tonight, so maybe this was a mirage brought on by too much alcohol, but her heart fluttered in her chest, hopeful that it was real. She opened her eyes and felt her muscles relax, a smile touching her mouth. He was still there. Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was sitting on her front step, asleep against her door. Phryne stepped quietly closer, crouching down beside him and examining his face in repose.

In sleep, his brow was smooth, the lines at the corners of his eyes relaxed. His mouth was slightly open, and his hair was mussed. She marveled at him, her smile growing. Jack. Here. She reached out a trembling finger to trace one eyebrow, his name escaping her lips in a whisper. He shifted a little, swallowing, and she watched his adam’s apple bob in his strong throat. When he didn’t wake, she cupped his face lightly and pressed her lips to his.

Jack woke slowly, his mind conjuring the feeling of Phryne’s lips on his as it had almost every morning since he’d watched her fly away from him. He kept his eyes closed, wanting to prolong the feeling as he tried to remember where he was. The last thing he remembered was finding Phryne’s address and getting no answer as he rang the bell, despite the lights he could see in an upstairs room. He’d decided to wait a bit, and he’d taken a seat on her front step. It hit him then that the feeling of lips on his wasn’t a dream—it was warmly, wetly real. He could smell her perfume, feel her hand on his face, and taste the champagne she’d drunk.

“Phryne?” he whispered, his hands already reaching for her.

“Jack,” she replied, before pressing her mouth to his again.

Jack pulled her across his lap, tilting his head to get a better angle from which to ravish her mouth. Her arms slid around his shoulders, and she pressed closer, her tongue sliding into his mouth to taste him.

“Phryne,” he whispered again, his hand sliding to her cheek, his fingers tracing her ear as he held her close, resting his forehead against hers. “Phryne.”

Phryne closed her eyes and breathed him in. Jack always smelled so good, the bite of shaving cream tempered by the spice of his skin. She pulled her hand from his shoulder to cup his cheek again, her fingers stroking the slight prickliness of his evening beard.

“Jack,” she breathed again, her smile incandescent with joy. “How are you here? I never really thought you could get here.”

“I take it that it’s all right that I did, though?” He smiled back at her, one hand stroking her back, the other still at her cheek.

“More than all right, Jack,” she replied, and she pressed her lips to his again.

The next time they broke apart, Jack’s hand had moved down to cup her breast, and Phryne could feel his hardness against her hip. Both were breathing hard, but neither was willing to let the other go.

“We should probably adjourn inside,” Phryne’s voice was ragged, and she pushed her breast into Jack’s hand, his fingers busily rubbing at her nipple. She realized that she was grinding her hips into his, wanting more stimulation than she was currently getting.

“I’d imagine so,” Jack said, his voice low and gravelly. “If you’re sure I’m welcome.”

Phryne laughed a little, her breath hitching as his grip tightened to keep her breast in his hand.

“If this isn’t the welcome you were looking for, Jack, I’m not sure what is.”

He grinned, and she loved that her lipstick was smeared across his face. She couldn’t wait to see what he looked like with other things smeared across his face, she thought, and her breath hitched again.

“Come on, then,” she said, suddenly impatient. She set her hands on his shoulders and pushed herself up; Jack gave her a helpful boost to the bottom, accompanied by a soft squeeze, and she laughed again, looking down at him. “Help me find my key, will you? I think I dropped it when you pulled me into your lap.”

Jack levered himself up, drawing his jacket closed over his very obvious erection. He cast his eyes around the top step, thinking that the thing wouldn’t have gone too far. Beside him, Phryne was doing the same. She’d already scooped up her small purse, and she was crouched by the door, scanning the shadows. With a soft “aha,” she reached between his legs, catching one hand behind his calf to keep her balance. When she looked up at him from that position, her hand brandishing the key, Jack couldn’t help the groan that escaped him.

With a sultry smile, Phryne stood, dragging the back of her hand up the front of his trousers. Jack caught her hand in his, pressing it briefly to him before retrieving the key from between her fingers. Phryne promptly turned her hand to cup him through his layers, her thumb rubbing across his crown.

“Careful, Miss Fisher,” he growled as he felt his cock twitch under her stroking fingers. With one hand on her waist, he moved them both to the door, where he fitted the key into the lock.

“Oh, I think we’re done being careful, aren’t we, Jack?” Her voice was a purr as she pressed herself more fully along the front of his body, her hand busily rubbing and squeezing him. “I think it’s about time for us to be reckless.”

Jack tilted his head down at her as he pushed the door open, and a small smile flirted with his lips. His eyes on hers were hot with desire, and Phryne felt her body loosen and moisture seep between her legs.

“Inside, Miss Fisher,” he said, “and let’s see just how reckless we can be.”

With a shiver at his tone, Phryne moved to enter the house, her hand catching his to draw him in behind her. Jack stepped in and closed the door behind them before using their clasped hands to twirl her around and press her back against it.

“Do you have any staff we will scandalize?” Jack spoke his question against her ear, his body pressing against hers, his knees slightly bent so that the hard length of his cock pushed against her mons.

“No,” Phryne breathed, pushing his jacket off his shoulders, wanting his bare skin against hers.

“And family planning?” Jack’s hands were at the hem of her skirt, pulling it up by the handful; Phryne could feel the cool air of the hall against the warmth of her bare thighs above her stockings.

At his question, she whimpered. “No,” the word was almost a wail.

“Well, then,” Jack rumbled against her, his mouth now hovering above her breast through the satin of her gown, “as I don’t think we should be quite _that_ reckless…”

He looked up to meet her eyes as he lowered himself to his knees, one hand sliding behind her thigh to lift it up and over his shoulder. His other hand grasped her bunched skirt fabric in a fist held just below her belly button. He smiled up at her with his eyes, and Phryne found herself biting at her lower lip.

“Jack…” Her voice was barely more than a whisper as she watched him bury his face between her thighs; his hand on her leg slid softly up to tug her knickers aside, allowing him to nuzzle her most intimate flesh with first his nose and then his lips. “Jaaaack!” This time, his name was a moan, and her head fell back against the door with a soft _thud_.

Jack tucked in to Phryne’s pussy as if he were a starving man, using his lips, tongue, and even (lightly) his teeth to stimulate her, and glorying in the way that she said his name as she neared her climax. He marveled at his own audacity, to be tongue-fucking Phryne Fisher against her front door. And she was enjoying it, her juices flowing freely, her hands in his hair gripping mightily, her hips moving to help his fingers and tongue find her most sensitive spots.

She was chanting his name now, with hardly a breath between the syllables, and he could feel the muscles of her thigh vibrating against the side of his neck. She was very close; he curled his fingers inside her body and moved his mouth to suckle strongly at her clitoris, suctioning the tender flesh between his lips and batting at it with his tongue. She screamed his name then, her whole body tensing as she came, and Jack continued his ministrations until she calmed.

When he felt her body begin to melt, boneless, against him, he caught his jacket in one hand and rose to lift her into his arms. He dropped his head to hers, catching her lips with his own. She responded sweetly to his kiss, one hand coming up to cup the back of his neck; when he lifted his mouth from hers, her head flopped sideways to rest on his shoulder.

“Where is your bedroom, Phryne?” The question was a rumble against her ear.

She lifted a limp hand to point the way up the wide staircase, and he started off quickly, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. He’d done this before, she remembered, and it had been thrilling then, though she’d been in no fit state to reward him for it at the time. That would not be the case today. She planned to reward him _very thoroughly_ , just as soon as she could move again. Damn, but the man had a talented mouth.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Jack hesitated for a moment. There were four doors, two on either side of the hall. He considered the placement of each of them; on the right, the two doors were evenly spaced, and therefore the rooms beyond them were probably evenly proportioned. On the left, the first door was almost halfway down the hall, and the second door sat close beside it. Likely a large room followed by a small one, then—her master bedroom and a bathroom, perhaps. With a decisive nod, Jack went directly to the first door on the left, turning the knob with the hand under Phryne’s knees.

The door swung open, and he saw that he’d been right—the room was large, with three tall windows along the wall that would be the front of the house; he breathed deeply—her scent permeated the space. A small lamp was lit on a bedside table, it was doubtless the light he’d seen from outside. The bed was set against the far wall, its plush doona turned down invitingly, the deep blue of the cover contrasting nicely with the crisp white of the sheets. He realized, peripherally, that the room held other furniture, but he didn’t see it. Kicking the door shut behind them, he headed in a straight line toward that big, soft bed.

Laying Phryne down on the mattress, Jack stepped back, devouring her boneless sprawl with his eyes. Glancing around, he saw a chaise lounge across the room, by the front windows. He moved around the bed and tossed his slightly crumpled jacket over one end of the chaise, then began divesting himself of the rest of his clothing. First his waistcoat came off and was laid across his coat, then he straightened to undo his tie, his eyes falling back on Phryne, who had rolled over and was watching him undress, her eyes hot. He smirked at her as he laid his tie aside and went to work on his cuffs.

“You’re very dressed, Miss Fisher,” he said softly, his eyes tracing her face. Tucking his cufflinks in his pocket, he shrugged out of his braces, leaving them hanging loose around his hips as he began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“So I am, Jack,” Phryne purred.

Her eyes never leaving him, she pushed up to her knees and pulled her dress off over her head, her camisole rising with it to give him a flash of her pale stomach. His hands hesitated as she tossed the dress off the end of the bed and repeated the action on her cami. Jack swallowed hard at the sight of her blue satin brassiere and knickers, her garter belt trimmed in black lace; she slid her hands down her body to unsnap her garters, then removed the belt, tossing it atop her dress and camisole. Shifting to one side, Phryne pulled one knee up in front of her as she unbuckled her shoe—he fought to breathe as he saw the dampness of the silk that stretched between her thighs—then chucked it over her shoulder; she next slid her hands under the top of her stocking, stretching her leg out in front of her to push it off her toes.

“You stopped, Jack,” she said, her eyes laughing at him, and he started. He had stopped—his shirt only partially unbuttoned, his hands fisting in either side of the button placket.

With a slightly sheepish smile, he began again, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way and shrugging out of it, then stripping off his undershirt. He bent over, quickly stepping out of his worn loafers and pulling off his socks before straightening again, his hands at his trouser fastenings. He glanced up at Phryne’s soft gasp; she had rid herself of her second stocking and had advanced on her knees to the side of the bed closest to where he stood, her eyes on his hands.

Jack kept his eyes on Phryne as he ran one hand down the front of his trousers, gripping himself strongly through the fabric; she licked her lips daintily, then drew her bottom lip between her teeth. Her hands went to the back of her brassiere, unfastening it, and her eyes jumped to his face as she removed the garment, her small breasts with their pointed nipples bouncing with the movement. Jack drew in a harsh breath at the sight of her, his hand unconsciously rubbing himself.

“Don’t stop now, Jack,” Phryne whispered, her hands dropping to the waistband of her knickers, one sliding inside to touch herself.

With a groan, Jack quickly shucked his trousers and his undershorts off all at once. Standing straight, he strode toward the bed; Phryne couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of him. His chest was broad, his muscles wiry, and his erection was… very large. She pushed her knickers off and moved back to make room for Jack on the bed, leaning back as he crawled up to lay over her, her knees on either side of his hips, his delightful cock nestled snugly in the valley between her legs.

Jack kissed her, then, his mouth avid, his hands roaming her skin. His fingers on her naked breast made her back arch, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting to feel more of him against her. He began to flex his hips slightly, bumping her already-sensitized clitoris with the head of his penis, dragging his length across it back and forth. His tongue pushed into her mouth, mimicking the thrusts of lovemaking, and Phryne groaned deep in her throat.

Jack slid one hand to her hip, his fingers digging into her buttock as he slid himself against her.

“Phryne,” he groaned against her mouth, “please tell me you have a french letter somewhere near to hand.”

“Unngh,” Phryne replied eloquently, one hand flailing out toward the table at the side of the bed.

Keeping himself between her thighs—indeed, her legs were locked so hard around his hips, he couldn’t have disentangled himself without hurting her—Jack crawled the top half of his body toward the bedside table, reaching to open the drawer and fumble blindly inside. After what seemed like forever, especially with Phryne beginning to pulse her hips against him, his searching fingers found a small box; pulling it out, he opened the top and moaned with relief when he saw the neat stacks of wrapped condoms inside. Pulling one out, he set the box back on the table top and unfolded the wrapper to take the device in hand.

Sliding back to cover Phryne’s chest with his, he kissed her again—he would never tire of kissing her, he thought—and then pushed himself up on one hand, the other attempting to cover himself. But his hands were shaking, and he dropped the condom to her belly, a ripe “fuck” exploding from his lips.

With a soft “shhhh,” Phryne picked up the condom; Jack planted both hands on the bed, raising his belly from hers to give her room.

She met his eyes and brought one hand to her mouth, her tongue coming out to lick a broad stripe down her palm; his cock jumped against her at the sight, and another, softer, “fuck,” escaped his lips. Smiling, she reached down to rub his aching cock with her lubricated hand before smoothing the condom down his length. Jack’s breath sawed out of his lungs at the feel of her hand on him, and as soon as he was sheathed, he pulled back his hips so that she could position him at her opening. He slid inside her body easily, seating himself fully within her, her name pushing out of his laboring lungs like a prayer.

Jack unlocked his elbows, dropping to press his chest against hers again, her wet heat undeniably the best thing he’d ever felt. Phryne met his lips with hers, his name ghosting out between them as their mouths touched. They were here, at last, joined in the most primal way. Both of them held still for that moment, aware that they had been moving toward this moment for the past two years and unable to pinpoint why, exactly, it had taken them so long to arrive at it.

Phryne held Jack’s eyes, her hand rising to push into his hair and hold his mouth to hers as he began to move his hips, long slow slides out, then back in. With each thrust, she pressed her heels into his buttocks, pulling him as close as she could; each slide took him almost all the way out of her body, and each push back in felt as good as the first.

“Jack, my Jack,” she breathed, “please Jack…”

“Phryne… god, you feel…” his voice brushed her skin, its velvety tone rippling over her body, and Phryne shuddered.

Jack’s breath caught at the sensation, and his hips began to speed up, still long gliding strokes, but faster now, harder. With a groan, he pushed himself up on his palms again, pistoning against her. Phryne watched as his face stretched in a grimace of concentration, the tendons in his neck bulging with effort. Her breath stuttered in her chest, and she leaned up to trace one of those bulging tendons with her tongue. At her touch, Jack shouted as his orgasm overtook him.

Phryne reveled in the feeling of his continued thrusts, even as he shook with the force of his release; the bliss on his face and the feeling of his rhythm breaking sent her flying as well, this climax flowing through her more gently than the first. Her fingers clutched at his back and in his hair, holding him tight as he sagged against her. She luxuriated in the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, in the feeling of his softening manhood within her, in the brush of his breath against her neck. They would have to get up soon, if only to deal with the condom, but for now, she just wanted to feel him, warm and solid and _here_.

“Jack,” she whispered, feathering her lips against his ear.

“Mmmmph?” He lifted his head slightly. “Am I too heavy?”

“Don’t you dare move,” she said, clutching him more tightly, both with her arms and with her legs, still locked around his waist. “I was just… saying your name.” She finished the sentence softly, feeling self-conscious.

Jack propped himself up on one elbow, his belly and hips remaining pressed to hers, and rested his head in his hand. His other hand came up to trace her jawline tenderly, his fingertips brushing gently over the contours of her face.

“Phryne,” he murmured, his eyes tender. His tiny, contained smile kicked up one side of his mouth, and she melted.

“I am so very glad you’re here,” she sighed, her own fingers moving from his hair to trace his features, her finger stroking down his cheekbone and jaw to nestle lightly into the dimple in his chin.

“I will gladly follow you wherever you go,” Jack said, dipping his head to press his lips to her fingertip. “Though next time I thought I might go with you, instead.”

Her smile was blinding. “I think that’s a brilliant idea, Jack Robinson.” His serious face lit up, his eyes blazing with happiness.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yes,” she said, reaching up to kiss him. He kissed her back, his mouth warm and sweet against hers. “You followed me here, and I’m going to keep you.”

“I’ll give you no argument about that, Miss Fisher,” was his rumbled reply.


End file.
